


Stockholm Syndrome

by Runaway_Moon



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fictious, Forgive Me, Friendship, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Historically Inspired, I'm Bad At Everything, I'm Sorry, Love/Hate, M/M, Porn With Plot, Sex is trading in this AU, Shameless Smut, Two tops, USSR Era, Yaoi Garbage, little bit of plot, made for friend, somewhat historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runaway_Moon/pseuds/Runaway_Moon
Summary: Things are turning worse for the growing U.S.S.R., and Russia has to act fast. Out of desperation and with no other choice, he resorts to capturing his longtime enemy Sweden. Sweden isn't aware and is about to learn the hard way just how bad things are over in the motherland.





	Stockholm Syndrome

Soil laid bare where grass and vegetation once prospered. Thick streams of blood remarked the scars of wars once raged. Russia's and Sweden's constant squabbles and conflicts resulted in very little, besides more warfare, loss of lives, and the dwindling of even more crippling shortages. The Baltics were tossed back and forth between the two like children to their bitterly divorced parents. With the changing of an era, a great war had erupted once more through the world. This war was far more brutal and bloody than the others before it and Sverige was struggling to stay ahead of his opponent. Just as each were battered and tired from the endless fighting, the Russians did the unthinkable. They had captured the living embodiment of Sweden, Berwald Oxenstierna. This was a turning point for the latest conflict, one that finally gave some hope to the ravenous forces of the growing civilization.

The stolen Swede was ultimately helpless in the hands of his kidnappers, being moved further back into the horde of Invaders. It had all happened so quickly and seemed so unlikely. After all, this was almost suicidal, as any nation who is in the midst of war, was almost guaranteed to protect the very soul cursed to represent them with such fierce dedication. Apparently this wasn't the case for Sweden and his people. Berwald's heart was racing as he was led away from familiar territory, and into one far more cruel and unforgiving. He was clueless as to what events awaited him here in Ryssland.

After two days of cautious travel, the captive was forced into a large building, elegantly carved and built. From what he could guess, this was his enemy's home. Soon his suspicions were confirmed as the tall silver haired man appeared before the Swede. That smug, renowned smirk was spread amongst the Russian's stern features. He feared the confidence that oozed off his opponent, and the humility was enough to enrage the trapped soul.

"Ahaha! This is great! Very good. We actually got you, Berwald? Not very quick man, no?" The taller male questioned, as he drew closer. That arrogant look never faded or faltered as he glanced over his prize. Ivan Braginski, as he was called, felt a euphoric rush. He had a winning chance to grow bigger and help his people. There was nothing to stop him now.

Ber's muffled, unintelligible response only made that smirk grow into a grin. Those pearly whites mocked the bruised ego of the other male. Those cold blue oculi pierced at the Russian while he tried the strength of his bindings in vain. He was angered, confused, and fearful above all else. In his ears, the clear thumping of his anxious heart beat marked each passing second.

Within an unspoken moment of heightened awareness, Ivan forced his fellow nation into a lone office. The air here was musty and marked with a rotten staleness. Dust gathered over every surface, as evidence of this study's abandoned state. Why was he brought here?

"Like the place?" Mr. Braginski chuckled, amusement dripping in his voice, "I want supplies. Any and all your country can give."

Mr. Oxenstierna warily watched Ivan, biting more aggressively against his makeshift gag. His eyes narrowed sharply, as a burning hatred coursed thru his sore body. His cold expression only darkened. He hated how low his opponent had gone, just to ruin him. Or so he thought.

"You know, you gave me good challenge, comrade. You tried so hard and gave me quite the fight, da?" Ivan drew forth, carefully undoing the other's cloth gag and pulled it from his fatigued jaws. "But now, it is time for me to get victory. My people need it. We have had many hardships, admit to hand over resources before I am forced to do something I do not want to do, friend." His tone grew harsh near the end, his violet gaze peering hungrily at the quiet male's physique.

"Svaret är nej!" Berwald hissed, shifting his mouth a bit, trying to ease some of the soreness that overwhelmed his body. His shaggy locks were a ruffled mess, each strand having been soaked in thick sweat. He flinched lightly as he felt his enemy's fingers comb through his platinum hair, before they curled roughly against his scalp to draw blood. He gritted his teeth in pain, eyes clenching closed for a brief moment. He'd deprive this bastard of the sight of his inflicted pain for as long as the captive could.

"You are either foolish or courageous. Maybe both, but bad choice, comrade~. I will take them by force then," Ivan murmured darkly, lowering his head so his lips were pressed lightly against the outer shell of Berwald's right ear. Briskly, he nipped at it, being playful and made his intentions crystal clear.

Berwald's blood ran cold, as his body jolted back from the bite. He hurt his back when he slammed into the backing of the chair. His pupils shrunk in realization, and a drop of sweat ran down his face. He kept silent for the time being, which only angered the victor. When Braginski pushed and pinned him painfully to the desk, the Swede gave a soft huff.

The blonde squirmed and thrashed in some vain denial of the intruding hands that roamed his body. Soon, Braginski had managed to tear and rip at the Swede's shirt, exposing his toned, and pale chest. The bindings tore into his flesh, and the cold ate at his warm flesh. Blood streamed gently from the small rope burns and cuts on his wrists. Droplets of crimson fluid cascaded to the floor below.

"What are you doin'?! Stoppa! Detta är fegt!" Berwald yelled out, desperate to stop what was already in motion. He shuddered, feeling the Russian trail his tongue up his lower abdomen and torso, sucking and kissing as he went. The loser's skin tasted sweet to his enemy, irresistible and addictive.

The power Ivan held was intoxicating, feeding the male's enlarged ego further. "You denied me, so…. Nyet, you will be a fun conquest~." Ivan Braginski whispered huskily, mouthing the words against the other's untouched skin. Just the thought alone made the bigger masculine guy groan in delight. He would spare the foreign soul his more sadistic tendencies. After all, this forceful stealing of food, weapons, and natural resources was for his suffering people. This was not a punishment, but a necessary evil.

"Relax, I will be gentle with you. I know you are starved of attention, Sweden, let me give you what you crave. It is a fair deal, no?"

"Nej, I need these t'ings too, y'know. A-ah!"

Mr. Braginski only grinned childishly, leaving a rough hickey on the small exposed part of the other's left hip. This elicited a muffled, strangled gasp. He refused to back down, but desired near complete submission from the Germanic man. His hands shakily undid the metal belt, causing a ringing sound to echo. Followed by the sound of material being slid down, as Russia forced his captive's trousers to fall to his ankles.

Sweden reared his upper torso, only to be pushed back down into the dirty wood below. His breath hitched, mind numbing in an instant. His opponent had felt up the faint outline his package, having caught Ber off guard.

Russia seemed to take note and briskly dipped his dominant hand into the other's undergarments. His hand eagerly wrapped around the hardly stiff organ, and he began to gently knead and pull. Within a few meager pumps, that limp shaft had hardened. The Swede had been weakened, moaning and pleading more for Braginski to stop.

Mindlessly, Oxenstierna gave a few weakened bucks against the uninvited hand, indulging in the amazing sensation. His defenses were crumbling, reason slipping through his conscious like sand through his fingertips. His arousal was peaked easily, due to his personal lack of intimacy.

"So eager," Russia snickered, rewarding the signs of need with a few more hefty strokes, before he withdrew for a moment. He was beyond proud at the sight before him. The stern, intimidating Sweden was a panting, blushing mess. Mr. Oxenstierna's legs were butterflied, and his eyes were kept clenched closed. The tied male didn't wish to witness nor be apart of this mess, much to the delight of the liege.

Berwald had no choice but to try and push any thoughts of his family from his mind. It would sicken him completely, defiling all he loved. His nails dug aggressively into the polished wood grains, as he felt his boxers pulled from their position. His erection sprung to life, and was twitching. The Swede felt ashamed, yet remained quiet. Only his heaved breaths and racing heartbeats could be heard.

The representation of Sverige needed this, as much as Руси needed the effects that would come from such actions.

It all happened so quickly. Russia had wormed his way behind the lying Sweden, watching him with a look of sheer want. It was a look that made the other feel more vulnerable, more weak. Ber trembled lightly, hearing his rival in life spit into his palm, and spread the fluid onto his sticky cock. It would have to do, as Ivan wasn't in the mood to seek out anything better or more comfortable. He didn't want this to be too wonderful for either, as he knew how awful this was. But it was needed. His people needed food, needed money, and wanted expansion….

Ivan Braginski didn't even wait, lacking patience and self control. He pressed against the Norse man, pressing his swollen, flared tip against his tensed ring of muscles. The heat alone fueled the captor. Letting out an extended grunt, he rammed into the tight warmth. Ivan pushed on, stopping only once his hips were flush against Berwald's.

The blonde threw his head back, lips parting as pain tore through his lower body. His eyes opened, glaring up at the silver nation taking his land physically. Ber muscles clenched around the invading organ, as he was stretched beyond his limits.

"Ah! Too big, too big! Get't out, stoppa!" Sweden froze, paralyzed by the immense, searing anguish. His legs were forced up and over the fellow nation's broad shoulders, causing the dick inside him to slip even deeper. It was there that it finally rubbed against some softened flesh, some part that released a wave of needed bliss through the captured Nordic. His innards relaxed and a soft grunt escaped him.

The Slavic nation caught on, as he bore down upon the other more, sharply sliding his hips back. He stopped once his flared head threatened to slip from the other's heated depths. His eyes closed tightly, free hand slipping to pull Berwald further into his reach. Quickly, he jutted forward, again slamming himself fully inside. His fingernails dug deeply into the Ashen skin of his rival, and his teeth found the most sensitive spot to start carving into, upon the Swede's tender neck.

Oxenstierna's back arched, and his muscles bundled over in the unwelcomed pleasure that flooded his senses. Each aggressive motion drove him further away from Ivan, only for his body to be forcefully brought back. At first, the slow thrusts were teasing his needs and growing desires. His icy eyes were soon filled with salty tears, as he cried out in both rebellion and want. His deep voice cracked and boiled under pressure, while that head battered and tore at his walls. He swore and sang praise to Ivan, wishing for some sign of approval. His breath grew heavier as he felt that dreaded warmth grow in the pit of his stomach. His knot was mounting to uncomfortable measure, bound to break him.

Both men grunted and moaned in unison with each time a new thrust was met and the two were reunited by the meeting of skin. Just as the enemies were conjoined in the forceful sharing of goods, Oxenstierna felt a pang of fear and despair fill his heart. His mind grew overwhelmed with voices he could not understand, and felt deep loneliness and helplessness take hold over his muscular form. Desperation claimed his thoughts and for a fleeting moment, he was snapped away to feel what his rival's surviving persons were left to feel. It made him ill, upset, and riddled with guilt.

Ivan Braginski was looming near his own end, but still wasn't sated. The bastard sought even more from his companion. Like some gluttonous, prideful maniac, Ivan sped up. His physical form nudged and rolled against the other, while his hands pinched and rubbed firmly on Ber's own tapered head. He kissed the other, only to pull away slightly to feel and hear the groan he received with clarity.

Before long, Russia pushed and nudged the furthest he could, being ensnared by the engulfing bumps and curves. He muffled Berwald's name against the other's neck as he came. He rode out his climax with weakening bucks, but tightened his grip on the other's swollen cock, depriving him of the ability to obtain sweet release. "T-tell me, how much do you want to be able to cum?" Braginski's tone was indifferent, having a hardness to it that made the smaller brute shudder.

"I-I…. I will return and give you a far worse punishment if you do not let me, Ryssland," Berwald warned lowly, still panting as he stumbled to get the words across his moistened lips. "Besides, let me go and it'll please both of us."

Ivan, satisfied somewhat, obliged. He eased up on the pressure and stroked the erection a few more times before feeling the other's body recoil against his own. Hot seed splashed onto Ivan's hand, and the men's stomachs. Both were left seemingly breathless, and drenched from the highly physical activity.

The Russian rocked his hips against the Swede teasingly before roughly pulling out. The submissive male shivered, giving a faint cry while his muscles tightened. Saliva and cum dripped in fine strings from the other's worn, overworked entrance, making a bigger mess upon the desk and floor. Where Berwald was tired, Ivan was revitalized.

"Spasiba, comrade. I know it was not easy, but my people thank you," Ivan carefully undid the other's restraints, examining his male companion's wrists. Gently, he raised them, and carefully cleaned them with a spare cloth he had around. "I want you to rest. I hope you will understand if I keep you here for few days. You need to recover, nyet? Perhaps I can get some you some luxuries during stay…"

* * *

Berwald Oxenstierna was thankful to be cleaned and redressed. How he adored feeling in control once more, as he peered out the window. His thoughts wandered to his own country. With his absence, Sverige was weakened as a nation, as a force. Carefully, he left his room. Descending down the unfamiliar hallway, the Swede felt his isolation from what he knew grow more overwhelming. His desire to return home became unbearable, and his anger flared up again.

Each step left him to retreat into his thoughts and wandering mind. How was his wife? How he longed to feel those soft, warm fingers against his cold skin. Suomi always knew how to cheer up Sverige, something that was now noticeably absent. Sweden's dreary heart became burdened with his newfound fears for his familia. Tino, Peter, Lad, and Hana all needed him.

It didn't take long before the Swede stumbled out of the house, never turning back as he fled with vanishing courage. The snow greeted his body, bringing some old form of comfort… something he was used to. Berwald Oxenstierna loved the cold, but even here, the snow felt far more chilled and ravenous compared to those that blanketed his homelands.

He was lost in a whitened wonderland of horrors, suffering, and a crumbling empire. Alone and fearful, the tall man slunk his way into the streets before him. He couldn't understand the writing that marked his path out, nor the accusatory remarks natives made as he passed by.

Eventually, exhaustion stopped the Nordic nation from anymore progress and he was forced to rest his tired body on an old, broken bench. He sighed uneasily, feeling sorrow wash over him. There was no plausible way he could contact his allies, his family, or for him to make his escape. Reality was settling within his mind, and he was choking on the helplessness and anxiety that filled his very being. He needed that support and affection that he was lacking immensely.

In a brief second, his focus was snagged away from his homesickness, and to those around him. Loneliness and sorrow marked every nook and cranny, and a deep sickness ran thick through the people that stalked thru. Happiness was a rarity here, and paranoia ran rampant. Those that passed seemed unwell, and discontent. For a moment, Berwald was exposed to the harshness the comprised Ivan's life.

A female voice startled him, as he saw Ukraine standing before him. She had a faint smile and her eyes were watery. "Is it true? You've donated things to us? Thank you, I know my little brother can be much, but he truly means well," she whined, taking a seat next to the Swede. "He is lonely deep down, needs someone he can hold onto. But that is easier said than done."

Briskly, she wiped one of her eyes free of their numerous tears and shyly, she hugged the man. "You are saving a lot of people. Thank you, Mr. Oxenstierna."

* * *

  
Russia had noticed the missing nation from his home. As he had his fellow U.S.S.R members search out the aged Norseman, he remained calm and collected. Despite his chilled composition, under that composure, he was disappointed and wrought with sadness. Regardless, already, his leader was pleased with the new shipments, and Ivan had garnered the favor of his boss.

He sighed, softly resting in a chair, mind grazing over all that happened. He was without more friends and those he considered family hated him deep down. He knew it, he felt it, as the lead of the U.S.S.R. The brute's broad shoulders slumped pathetically down, hands resting over his face as he let a few tears drip silently into his palms.

It was then that he heard the doorknob turn and the door swung open. Ivan didn't budge, ashamed of the atrocities he needed to commit for the sake of survival. It was then that he felt a equally strong hand fall upon his left shoulder. The Russian's breath hitched, and he looked up to see Berwald lurking above him.

"Thought you fled back to Sweden. Why are you still here?"

"Nej, I tried but I realized that you needed help. No, let me stay and do what I can. But no more of th's bond'ge," Oxenstierna informed, smiling meekly and as best as he could.

Mr. Braginski grinned like some spoiled child, chuckling like some loon. "Da, ok. I won't unless you want me to, you were great screw, but better friend." He slowly rose, eagerly growing more assertive as he closed the gap. His arms tucked firmly against his Nord rival, pulling the other male closer. Without much fuss, their lips were connected once more, as the duo shared goods again.

The Swede was content for the time to give in and found himself content to be the Slavic nation's romantic companion.


End file.
